Life and AIDS Work in NorthWest Cameroon

Dreams Come True

In the last week, my last in Cameroon I have come full circle.  I now see that many of my dreams have come true during my six months on Cameroon.  I mean dreams in both senses of the word:

::: Dreams, the lofty aspirations you think you may never achieve, such as taking six months off to work in Africa on HIV/AIDS at the grassroots level :::

as well as

::: Dreams, those surreal nocturnal experiences that evoke magic or menace, like the dream of flying, losing all your teeth, or going to work naked, again ::: 

I am lucky to have achieved things I have dreamed about for years:

• Engaging in hands-on development work in Africa with little or no bureaucratic paperwork
• Collaborating with a team of talented individuals whose commitment and communication skills sometimes gave me goosebumps
• Creating a network of Cameroonian friends and colleagues
• Exploring an almost undiscovered paradise and its complex culture
• Adding some new items to my repertoire of exotic languages and anecdotes
• And, last but not least, enjoying the support of a spouse who understands and appreciates my independence and idealistic ambitions   

Yet, on the other hand, I have also encountered difficulties that are so profound that they left me feeling dislocated and doomed.  Indeed a few of my meetings with the Mother Superior/Executive Director were so unpleasant and unpredictable that they felt like a nightmare gone awry.

We usually talked about important problems, such as donations going "missing" and whether or not condoms are an ethical way to prevent HIV/AIDS.  But when the Matron felt that her authority was questioned, she could become hostile and go on the offensive, asserting her control through cut-throat criticism.

In the end, we could not bridge the deep rift between our world views despite common goals and good intentions.   Yes, we both recognized that we are similar in many ways: opinionated, passionate, and committed to what we believe is right. 

But  even after countless conversations, we still had completely different opinions. I believe condoms are an ethical way to prevent HIV/AIDS.  She believes they are an evil device that promotes promiscuity and anyone who uses them will burn in hell. 

But I suppose that is a lesson in and of itself: some differences are irreconcilable and no amount of conversation or cultural relativism can overcome them.  In some cases there is no universally acceptable interpretation of ethics, and efforts to create one may be futile.   I suppose that is what makes my experiences here a gritty reality, and not a dreamy illusion.

Grand Finale

Alex and I enjoyed my last week in Njinikom to the fullest.

On Sunday, we went to FPaul's Thanksgiving celebration at the Martyr Baptist Church in Wombong.  Unlike the American version, in Cameroon Thanksgiving is celebrated by giving a portion of your harvest or annual income to the church to express gratitude for a year of good work.  In my case, I was giving thanks was for spending a wonderful five months in Njinikom and for surviving the bus accident unscathed.

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Thanksgiving offering

Little girl and congregation

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On Monday, I got caught up on work: teaching staff how to complete the design and content of the new website, while Alex stayed at home and got caught up on his own work for MOTU.

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On Tuesday, we went to a raucous potluck dinner at MacDonald's (also known as the bad boy Snoop MacYeng.)   The food was excellent as usual and spirits were high.  Alex ended up drinking far too much Guinness.

Here we are with Gloria from the pharmacy.  She likes to joke she will be the future Minister of Health, so we need to be nice to her now.

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Wednesday night, Alex and I were invited to the convent for prayers and dinner.  Alex's head nearly blew off when in the midst of the high pitched singing the nuns whipped out their drums and pounded out an uplifting beat.

Thursday was spent on more work, revising budgets, completing reports, and conducting my last program management training session.

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On Friday, Project Hope organized a large send-off party for me, complete with traditional dancers, a present of matching traditional outfits, a plate of delicious ginger scented fried chicken, and many quintessentially complex Cameroonian speeches.   "Who is Fiona Smith?" intoned T.Paul.  "That is what we are here to discover and discuss."

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Saturday, we went with Fpaul and his fiancee, Victorine, to visit the two most powerful traditional leaders in our region:  The Fon of the Kom people, and the Ado, who leads the Fulani herders that live high up on the plateau.

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Here Alex arrives at the Fon's with FPaul.  Alex must not have made the right sacrifices to the Saint Cristopher the protector of travelers, because on this trip the motorcycle he was originally riding on broke its chain, and he needed to get a ride on FPaul's motorcycle.

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The Fon.  He is an old man of about 80 with about 60 wives.  He was very interested in FPaul's fiancee, Victorine, asking her name, address, and father's name.   Both of them were freaked out by the experience and were dreading the red X that appears at the doorway of the intended's house.  No one knows what happens to the women who turn him down.

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The heads of certain neighborhoods are required to donate carvings to the Fon.  Here I am standing in one of the most elaborately carved doorways with two of the Fon's more than 100 children.

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We continued hiking until we got on top of the plateau where the Fulanis live and herd their cattle.

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The Ado.  He is very laid back and approachable in comparison to the Fon.  The Fon required a donation of $30, but the Ado was happy to receive 4 blocks of soap worth about 80 cents.

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The hike back was equally spectacular with views of volcanic hills in the mist.

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Victorine and FPaul.

One of the highlights of the hike was watching the two of them joke around and entertain each other.  At first, Victorine was very shy around me, barely saying five five words (yes, no, I don't know) in my presence.  So I was pleased and relieved to see her open up and actively engage in conversation. 

It is great that they can now be more open about their relationship.  Up to recently, they hid it because pre-marital relationships, though common, are not really approved of in the culture.  Furthermore it is expensive and intimidating to get engaged because of the number of hoops you have to jump through to get the families' formal approval and save money for the wedding.

Money Misadventure

Today, I had to go to the bank to get some of my personal savings to pay for my trip to Northern Cameroon with Alex.  I brought two means of obtaining those personal savings: travelers checks and an ATM card.   Even small errands like this end up becoming a scavenger hunt here in Cameroon.  So follow along for a blow-by-blow decription of my 2.5 hour long extreme adventure in getting cash for my vacation.

11:35:  I went to get my credit card and travelers checks from the safe.   Here in Cameroon you need to bring the receipts for travelers checks or they will not cash them.  So I got those as well.

11:45  Left the office with the country director who was kind enough to give me a lift to one of two banks he knew have ATMs that work with US accounts.

12:00: The ATM at first bank is not working, and they do not cash travelers cheques in US dollars, just those in Euros.

12:10 Walked through the rain to the next bank, Credit Lyonnais.  Insert my ATM into the machine and nothing happens.  I start to feel nervous when after 5 minutes the screen is still frozen.  Ask another customer for help, then at long last my card is spit out, rejected.   Walk upstairs trying to find the person responsible for travelers checks, and finally find a secretary who says that they are a branch office and I should go to their main office downtown.

12:25  Dodged more raindrops on the way to the next bank.  My hair is damp, my sandals muddy.  They only cash travelers checks for people with an account.  And their ATM is down.

12:50  Arrive in downtown where all the main bank branches are located.  First bank  has not ATM and only does Thomas Cook, not American Express travelers check.

12:55  Arrive at second major bank downtown.  Huge lines snake along the walls of the main lobby.  There is no sign of an ATMs (because there are none.)   After asking several people, I find a small spiral staircase that leads down into the basement.  I stand in one line, waiting for the impartial clerk to make eye contact.  She stares down at her paperwork as if she does not notice the ten people in line waiting to talk to her.  Finally I make it to the front of the line, "Go to the next counter."  There is no one there.  Wait 5 minutes for someone to show.  "Sorry we can not cash travelers checks because the internet is down, and so we can not validate the check numbers.  Try across the street."

1:10 Walk across the street.  Wow!  There is a small buiding with hge shiny windows and not one but three ATM machines.   Insert my card.   Wow!  It is asking my passcode!  Type it in.  Wow!  It asks how much money I want.  OK, $100.   Then, suddenly, the machine spits out my card.  "Insuffient funds."  This has got to me a mistake.  But no after trying all three machines, three times, I can not even withdraw $50 from my account. 

I am beginning to get worried because I need cash to pay for a cab to the airport (a whopping $40 round trip), and a night in a hotel ($22).  What if nothing works?  Will I be able to borrow money from another volunteer or Peace Corps staff member?

1:15   Go inside the bank to try my luck with the travelers checks.  Walk up a spiral staircase to their travelers check counter.  No one is there.  "Come back later.  She will not be back for 20 minutes."   I am getting more nervous.  I have an important meeting with the country director and director of the health program at 2pm.   Am I going to make it?  I do not have a cell phone anymore, so I can not even call them to tell them I am running late.

1:30 The clerk finally arrives.  "I am not sure we will be able to verify your checks.  The computer system has not been working.  But let me try."  Tipity-type-Tipity-type-Tipity-type...  Her face is passive and unreadable.  Nothing is happening.  Tipity-type-Tipity-type-  "Can you fill out these three forms?"  So I print my name, birthdate, birthplace, US address, reason for obtaining cash, passport number.   Sign three times...no here also. Tipity-type-Tipity-type-Tipity-type...  Finally something happens. "Are you OK if we give you 88,000 for $200?"  As a matter of fact, it is not OK.  The current exchange rate would normally give me 100,000, so they are deducting $24 for the pleasure and security of using travelers checks. But hey, beggars can not be choosers, and I need the money.  "I'll take it."

Two hours later, and $24 dollars poorer, I have enough cash to pay for a cab to the airport and a hotel room tonight and maybe for part of my train fare to the north.  Alex is bringing cash to cover the rest.   Carrying so much in cash would be insane in any other country, but here in Cameroon, that is better than the alternative.

2:05 I am back at headquarters for my meeting.  "So what are you doing here in Yaounde today?"

Friends at Work and Play

One of the great things about working here is the close network of friends, colleagues and acquaintances that has sprung up around me within just a few short months.  I can go down to the crossroads anytime and be guaranteed to run into at least couple of people that I can talk to or have a beer with, even if is just a shopkeeper or a policeman who met me once.

There is an instant intimacy that develops when you work in a small town. I have been surprised and gratified to delve into very personal and philosophical subjects after only a beer or two.  Since all the hospital staff are well educated and speak English, there are no language barriers and the cultural differences that do exist make for more interesting conversation topics.

There are not the same barriers between your personal and professional life here.  Maybe Cameroonians are just more open and interested in outsiders, or there is just a shortage of educated peers.  Whatever the reason, you often end up hanging out with the same people that you work with. 

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Barbara (my housemate) and Clement (nurse who often works the night shift at the hospital) during a serious moment at work. 

Are they saints?...

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....or are they sinners?   

Here is Clement with his girlfriend of the night.  He is a great salsa dancer and likes to banter back and forth in comicly convoluted bureaucratese.

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Barbara often works with MacDonald, a nurse who leads the clinic for the prevention of mother-to-child transmission of HIV/AIDS and for adherence to anti-retroviral therapy.

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Barbara and Mac also hang out together after work.  Here they are with their friends, Clement, Louis and other hangers on.  We ended up getting thrown out of this bar at 2AM and spending several hours trying to figure out why and what to do about it. In the end, Clement and Louis walked home (it took two hours) while Mac, Barbara and I got a hotel room for 3 hours and took the first cab back at 6AM.

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Lillian is a social worker who conducts voluntary counselling and testing at the hospital and home visits for people with HIV/AIDS.  Here she is discussing a case study of married women who finds she has HIV/AIDS and suspects her husband.   

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The discussion continues... I love the way that they listen intently to one another.  It is clear that these coworkers really like and respect each other.

Men and women coworkers have friendships here, and there is little or no sexual harassment though we dance close together and discuss relationships in an irreverent and spicy way that you probably would not do with your colleagues in the states.

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Belter cooking "Kati Kati" chicken for the monthly dinner among hospital staff.

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Here a group of us hangs out talking, eating popcorn, and watching the movie "Memento" on Shannon's laptop.

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Margaret established an eye clinic in a neighboring town.  Here she is hanging out with Godwin, who is her boss, landlord, and friend. 

More Kittens!

It is expensive to get a cat fixed if your income is $224 per month.  Also, the vet's office in the nearest town looked dirty and dangerous when Shannon went to investigate and inspect the facilities. 

So, Tiffy ended up getting pregnant again, for the second time in the 5 months I have been here.  Here she is looking cute and showing off her round belly.

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On Monday night around midnight, Tiffy ran across my bed and started rummaging through my suitcase.  I turned on the light to figure out what the commotion was and saw she was in labor.  So I ran to get her box, and about 3 hours later, after a lot of huffing, yowling, and licking, she was nursing her four brand new kittens.

A Few of My Favorite Things

As my departure date approaches, I am beginning to get a bit sentimental.  I am trying to use my time wisely so I can enjoy the last few weeks to the fullest.  So, in the spirit of this harvest and thanksgiving season, I want to commemorate some of the things I like best about this place.  Here goes...

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Watching the sunset on my backporch.

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Kids playing with homemade toys.  This is a car made from a sardine can.

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Drumming in church and the counterpart harmonies of the "vernacular choir."  (This means they sing in Kom, not English.)

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Shannon and FPaul.  They share a passion for HIV/AIDS work, a great sense of humor, as well as deep resevoirs of emotion and intelligence.  Although they let me down by deciding not marry one another, I forgive them.  Better yet, they forgive me for pushing them both, individually, on the marriage issue.   

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Juju dancers, cropping up on a weekly basis for various death celebrations, making the weekly tally of deaths bearable.  As the Mother Superior said, "If we can do one thing well, we know how to celebrate death."

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Cute kids

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Goats, their "who me?" attitude, and the way they shriek when being forced to go where they do not want to go.

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Split sleeves.   I can not get enough of the colorful fabrics and fabulous fashions.

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Everyday people can not only make great music, they also can make their musical instruments.

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"Koki"  To prepare: boil black-eyed peas, then mash them up with a large spoonful of palm oil and jabanero peppers, wrap in a banana leaf and boil for 15-20 minutes.  When cool, serve with boiled plantain or cocoyam.   Delicious!

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Volcanic mountains.   Cameroon has a string of volcanic mountains that stretches from Atlantic Ocean, through the NorthWest Province (where I live), and all the way to the border with Chad.  Here is the volcanic island of Malabo off the coast of Limbe.

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Did I mention the fabulous cloudscapes from my back porch?

Why am I here? What am I doing? Who do I want to be?

Being abroad for 6 months, away from friends and family, living on a tight budget, with little access to the normal distractions and amusements gives one a lot of time to think about existential issues.  Usually, I just spin round and round in my head, and once I am fatigued I simply decide to enjoy what is around: the view, the jokes, the ironies and oddities of everyday life.  But every once in a while, I get a glimpse of insight into the bigger questions and issues invoked by this extra-ordinary adventure.   

My latest batch of thoughts were inspired by Robert Strauss, the Peace Corps Director of Cameroon.  The following are some excerpts from his monthly mailing, edited to focus on what I thought were the most interesting points.

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Along with all the various hardships one faces in Cameroon, we are also confronted with the same questions that many Peace Corps Volunteers - here and around the world - continue to confront. "What am I doing?" Did I make the right choice?" "Why am I here?" "Why are we in Cameroon?" "People here aren't starving. Shouldn't I be working where people are starving?" Or "Why am I not working at home to alleviate poverty? There are more pressing needs just miles from where I used to live than there are here."

Since arriving in Cameroon I have conducted many interviews, met several dozen of you in the office and more in the field. Every interview has been interesting. Some have been challenging, other intriguing. None, unfortunately, has provided me with philosophical tautologies to answer any of these questions. What they have done is clarified some thoughts I have about how one can think about the fundamental questions of development and how we decide what to do now that we are here.

Development itself is a peculiar field. How do we define development? From whose point of view? The United States, in terms of material acquisition and infrastructure, is by most standards "developed." Yet judged on the basis of American rates of murder and family cohesiveness we are perhaps not so developed. In the face of such conflicting information, how do we think about what we are doing here in Cameroon?

Not long ago I took a seminar in which the facilitator asserted that seeking answers to "why" questions was a waste of time. Find out "why" you do something and so what? Where does that leave one? Every why question generates a reason as an answer which can provoke another "why." At the seminar the facilitator had us go through endless cycles of "why" and behind each answer, behind each reason, there was always another question and another reason. And the reasons, though self-satisfying and self-justifying, ultimately got us all nowhere. Likewise with "What am I doing?" and "Did I make the right choice?" kind of questions. These are questions, as my facilitator pointed out, that don't get us anywhere. They serve mainly as some type of psychological justification for what we have already done. They do little to get us where we want to be.

The questions to ask, the facilitator suggested, are, "Who do I want to be?" or "What am I personally committed to?" The answers to these types of question draw us into the future. In the face of adversity and challenge (as we are all likely to face in Peace Corps), the answers to these questions pull us toward a future that inspires us, toward a personal possibility and commitment. The answers to "Why am I here?" or "What (the hell) am I doing?" don't do this and more often than not come from something that is pushing us from behind - such saving face, or parental judgment, or finishing up something no matter what or how distasteful. How much more powerful it is to be drawn forward by a personal aspiration or commitment.

In any given situation in life, no matter the hardship, we can choose to commit ourselves to something that inspires and motivates us by answering the question, "Who do I want to be?" In a Peace Corps context, this could be being the best teacher one can be, being an inspiring and supportive manager, being a compassionate and irrepressible health educator, or maybe simply being a good listener. The character of commitment is often built around an adjective; compassionate, dedicated, adventurous, supportive, innovative. You can try a different one on each day - "Today I'm going to be adventurous" - until you find the one that works for and inspires you. The beauty of this approach is that we don't have to like what we are doing moment by moment because what we are doing moment by moment is motivated by the person we are committed to being rather than the actions we are taking. The actions are taken only in service to the commitment, not in and of themselves. So when teaching or managing is a drag, or when all the crops have withered, or when the funds have been diverted, or when people didn't show up when they said they would, yes, it's distressing, it's troubling, it's unfortunate, it's a pain. But ultimately - unless there is arterial bleeding going on - it doesn't matter because circumstances and emotions do not need to affect the person you have chosen to be. You can continue to choose to be that person. And your commitment can sustain and inspire you in the face of bad weather, broken promises, failed communication, and all the many other annoyances that can plague and get us down.

So decide who you want to be: bold, courageous, compassionate, loving, adventurous, and try it on. Walk in that character for a day or a week or a month and see how it feels. And how the world around you looks when you see if from the point of view of a personal commitment you have selected. And then let me know how it works and how if feels.

Three Burials and No Wedding

There has a rash of deaths in the last 24 hours.  Today, my parents and I ran into three burials by accident.   

Walking out of the house this morning, my parents and I witnessed the wailing and flailing of a woman mourning the death of a child.  A crowd had gathered in front of the house of the family, talking quietly and trying to console the family who were sobbing and singing sad songs inside.

Then we past Shannon's house where a huge crowd had gathered on her road.  Her neighbor had been found dead that morning in a stream in a remote area about halfway between his home and the elementary school where he was the headmaster.   It was a shocking and disturbing death because very few people die by drowning, because he is a very quiet family man with seven children, and because his head was covered in bruises, which made it look like he was beaten.  I went to give my condolences to the family, not realizing it was open casket without any makeup.  An older lady in a fancy dress was barking order at his seven kids so they would pose for a photo gathered around their father's corpse.  Meanwhile his wife was leaning into the coffin, and his mother came up to put her hands on his battered head.   It was very grim.

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Here are schoolkids holding a photo of their deceased headmaster and beating drums at his wake.

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Then when we returned from the market with our weekly load of tomatos, onions, and condiments, we ran into a third burial.  This one had a festive tone, with drums, jujus, and dancing, so the deceased must have been an older person.

Death is happening all around, with little or no warning or explanation.

African Modernism

I have spent the last couple of days in Yaounde with my parents who just arrived this weekend.  While overall it is a pretty dirty city, there is some really cool modernist achitecture.  Here are some photos.

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The pool at the fabulous Mount Febe hotel

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Fake African dance at the hotel.  In the village, a woman would not be caught dead in a bikini top and grass skirt, which is to say she would not be caught alive in such skimpy attire.

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Building  with odd tumor, conference room  appendage.

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Facade of a bank

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Palm tree

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Mask in a museum established by a Swiss Benedictine monk in the 1960s.

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My mother (Heidi) taking pictures in the museum

Amoebas, E. Coli, and Other Intestinal Adventures

I am in the Peace Corps house in Yaounde, waiting to pick up my parents who are arriving for a two week visit.  Hanging out with other Peace Corps volunteers for the day makes me realize how our culture and conversations change to adapt to our environment.  One of the the first topics of conversation: unusual bowel movements and other mysterious ailments.

One guy I met got antibiotic resistant E.Coli and had to be put on intravenous treatment.  A woman posted in the extreme north has recurrent amoebas.  Another kept passing out due to what was eventually diagnosed as an infection of the inner ear.  Not to be left out, I tested positive for micro-organisms which I think I got from eating guavas.   

I am relieved that the discomfort is not a psycho-somatic side effect of doing too many trainings on common childhood illnesses.   I also like the ironic reciprocity of being a visitor in a foreign land while being a host to unknown organisms.

Wa-BONG-nah!

Unlike the village where I worked in Mali, here in Njinikom there are many other Europeans and Americans working at the hospital and in the surrounding communities.  Here are some pictures of some of the other "Wobongna" as white people are known here.

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Eating fish with Rebecca, the Peace Corps Volunteer in the nearest town.  Prior to the Peace Corps, Rebecca served in the Army for many years. She even worked in the Army facility where biological weapons are studied and developed.

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Ingrid is a nurse who volunteered at the hospital during the summer.  There have been many other medical and nursing students from Germany who spend 3 weeks to 4 months at the hospital as part of their practicum.

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T. Paul posing with Tim, an American medical student who was here for 6 weeks this summer to evaluate and collaborate on a project that delivers drugs for HIV and common childhood illnesses at 50% off.

To Give or Not to Give...

One of the decisions I face here on a daily basis is the question of how to respond to requests.  Walking down the street is not uncommon for kids to call out, "Give me something" or "I beg for sweet."  At work, colleagues ask for help getting financial aid to study in Europe or the US.  Several people have asked me to pay their school fees, or the fees of their children.  Old men ask for kola nuts, deaf people moan and point at their stomach, and casual acquaintances, like the tailor and motorcycle taxi driver, ask me to buy them shoes.  Almost everyone wants help getting a visa to the US.

It is hard to know how to respond.  People here are comfortable asking just about anyone, especially any wealthy or white person, for things.  Successful Cameroonians are expected to help their less fortunate family members.  So most locals who are gainfully employed are supporting about three or four nieces and nephews in addition to their parents and children.  They send school fees, pay for death celebrations, and host anyone who shows up at their door for weeks at a time.  There is no stigma attached to relying on family members in perpetuity.  In fact, it is the reverse, refusing to help friends and family members is unacceptable.

One of the last Peace Corps volunteers in Njinikom was exceedingly generous.  She let three children move into her courtyard, and she paid the school fees of about 5 children.  Rumor has it that she would walk down the street handing out bread and candies to small children and that she gave a very generous to a teenage boy.

On the other hand, it can be very annoying to be constantly asked to give, give, give.   You begin to dread certain conversations because you wonder when are they going to ask you for something.  If you decline, there is always the inclination to explain why, since more often than not, you have more than they do, even though you are just a poor Peace Corps Volunteer.  Most Cameroonians work much harder than Americans but earn a lot less.  Still you are tempted to give a lecture about how in the US, it is better to work and save your money than to just ask for a hand-out.   

You want to be able to give freely and be generous, but their pre-emptive requests often catch you off-guard and leave you feeling uncertain.   When it comes to giving, is there always a string attached?

Love's Labor Lost?

It is time to retire my blog's former subtitle, "Love's Labor and Being Lost," because my feelings towards my work and surroundings have changed to the point that that subtitle no longer applies.

Love's Labor

When I first arrived, there was the delicious feeling of diving blindly into the kind of work I love: deep, intense, complicated, with layers and layers of social, cultural, emotional, economic, medical, and environmental causes and consequences.   Plunging into work was like jumping into a lake at midnight on a warm summer night- irresistible no matter the risks.  Rocks, seaweed, turtles, schistosomiasis… Who cares?   Just think of the feeling of water shimmering in the moonlight.    The thrill of working for a worthy cause was so powerful that it was easy to accept the inevitable difficulties as the price you have to pay for having an adventure and intellectually stimulating work.   

But after a few months, the daily struggle for basic funding and the chronic conflict between the Catholic and medical view of HIV/AIDS prevention have taken its toll.   So the initial enthusiastic outpouring of ideas and activities has changed to a slower more cautious investment of my efforts and emotions.  There is nothing exciting about not having ink for education materials and watching the diminishing enthusiasm and attendance of the unpaid volunteers .  And it is draining to work with people whose ethics are in direct conflict with your own.  So what started out as a delightful labor of love is becoming a grueling long-term commitment for better or worse.   The work is still important and intriguing, but it now feels like a stubborn struggle, not an energizing endeavor.

Being Lost

Initially I felt disoriented all the time.  Each time I took a taxi, say to Rondpoint Ngolak, I had no idea where I would end up…at the store with the item I needed, in a traffic jam, or diverted to some big mysterious ceremony.    

People would greet me by name, but their faces were unfamiliar and I could not tell if they knew me because they sold me an egg the day before or because they were the person in the support group who lost 3 children to AIDS in the last year.

Now not only do I recognize faces and know the names, but I also now know which people will show up on time, which ones are just being friendly to get money, which ones will help me with the language, which ones like to gossip and which ones know which gossip is true.   

I can walk home at night without a flashlight because I know which side of the road will be slippery and which shadows are trees, and which ones are people standing in the road.    

I am no longer lost.  I know what is going on.   Now the challenge is to keep moving forward despite the disappointments and complications.

Seeing Mount Boyo Through Fresh Eyes

Here are some great photos of the Njinikom area from Ingrid, a recent visitor.  I have been here long enough that I appreciate seeing the familiar scenes through fresh eyes. Here are her pictures from a hike up Mount Boyo.

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"Downtown" Njinikom with the view of Mount Boyo.

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Nestor hiking along the ridge.  In the background, under the eucalyptus trees, is a small house where a mysterious goat-herding hermit lives.

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Looking down on Njinikom from the top of Mount Boyo.  This area has one of the few remaining cloud forests in West Africa, actively being preserved from the expansion of agriculture.

How the other staff lives...

I have moved again, leaving behind the moldy abode with the two Congolese seminary students, and moving back to the original place.   As a memorial, I wanted to send out photos just so you can see how the African staff and younger foreign medical students live. 

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The bathroom, which I shared with the seminary students.  The Austrian nun in charge of lodging insisted, "There is no point in providing a toilet seat since the Africans always break them."  But in the house where I now live with the more senior foreign volunteers, all the toilets have seats.

I never saw any spiders in the bathroom, but the German medical students that live in the other side of this duplex shrieked when they saw huge hairy critters in theirs.

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The backyard. After taking a shower, you had to walk through this courtyard, past whoever was hanging out doing laundry or otherwise killing time.

Contrast this to the view of a papaya tree, cow pasture, and mountain vista in my original (and now current) house.

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The kitchen with hotplate.  There was running water but no refrigerator.  I did not spend much time here because I lost my zest for cooking.

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The living room.  The green walls and dark floral prints gave this the warmth and charm of a medical ward or funeral parlor.  But maybe I am being too critical.... at least you can sit down and have a chat, if you are not undermined by a sense of gloom and impending depression.

Ups & Downs of Life Abroad

Living here can be a thrilling and fatiguing ride on an emotional roller coaster.   You can climb the heights of exhilaration one day, only to plunge into the depths of frustration a few days later. But to paraphrase a popular cliche, "When I am on the roller coaster, I am fully alive.  All else is waiting.”

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The "Upsides"

• New discoveries everyday: fresh passion fruit, a new waterfall, a great local expression (No be so?)
• People think you are a genius if you can master a few phrases in their local language (How are you, What is your name, Where are you going)
• The beauty and tranquility of rural life (except for the rooster crowing at 6AM every morning)
• Walking by moonlight.  The smell of pine and jasmine at night.  Overhearing familiar but unexpected melodies wafting out of people’s houses.
• The sense of accomplishment knowing that it is possible to live on $224 a month
• Intense conversations about religion, relationships, culture, and other complex and controversial topics

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Incandescent smiles and extended eye contact

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• Distance from the global crises in the news:  The wars in Iraq, Israel, Lebanon, global warming, the erosion of the bill of rights, and the administration’s subversion of the international statutes against torture, all seem so far away that they are almost irrelevant.   I have important work to do and an opportunity to make a difference in a cause that I believe in.  I do not have much time or energy to get bent out of shape about macro issues that I have little or no control over. 

• Seeing clients in the market, on the street, and how they live life day to day.   They are not just anonymous beneficiaries or AIDS victims that you encounter in their deepest crisis and never see again.  They are three-dimensional people living ordinary life in real time.  You know their children, what they sell in the market, what happened when they disclosed their status to their husband, how their family’s reaction has changed over time, how well they sew, where their fields are.  How they can be generous, annoying, listless, encouraged, ordinary, and extraordinary depending on the day and the people they are with.

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The Downsides

• The taunting tone of children as they yell “Wabong-na” or “White man, give me something” as you pass

• Working at my desk, hearing the endless inconsolable wails of toddlers in orphanage—visiting the orphanage seeing the dead eyes of the teenagers who are supposed to be caring for them.  Are the babysitters so depressed, neglected, and abandoned that they have no empathy left for others?

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Mystery meat: What is this that they are offering me?  Egussi?? What’s that? Cow brain?  Ground kidneys?  Mashed bitternut seeds?  Smoked monkey meat?   People will be offended if I do not eat it…Oh well, just eat it and don’t think about it.  Ugh!! Stomach churning, waves of nausea, fear.  I hope I do not regret this later.

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• Impatience with the slow pace of change.  It is discouraging when impediments seem to be blocking new approaches and undermining the progress you thought you were making.
• Worrying about reverse culture shock:  Will I hate going back home to a city without views of the mountains, where people do not greet in the street, where fruit is expensive and relatively tasteless?   Will Americans seem shallow and self-centered when I return?  Will press coverage of Africa strike me as condescending and awash with pointless pity and pessimism?  When I get a “real job,” how will I be able to tolerate sitting in an office all day, developing and managing social service programs for clients that I have little or no contact with? 

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Despite the vicissitudes to day- to-day life, in the end it is satisfying to experience life in all its intense details and to observe the constant changes both within and around you.  At times, it may push you to your limits, but it sure is more interesting than most movies and TV shows.

Slippery when wet

More shots of the rainy season...

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Walking back up the hill to the hospital and my house after an afternoon of shopping.

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Bringing back lunch.  People carry balls of fufu in thermos containers like this.

Kittens!

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Last Saturday afternoon, there were some funny yowls coming from our lving room cabinet.  When we investigated, the cat Tiffy was giving birth to two little kittens.  This is her third pregnacy this year.  Last time she had five kittens.  So she seems to be taking a break from motherhood.  (It's hard to get the cat neutered here.  There a lot of doctors for humans around who are not willing to experiment on animals, and the vet in the nearest town apparently has a very dirty office and grungy equipment.)

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Living in the Lap of Luxury

I am living on the hospital grounds in a house with a Swiss medical student, a Belgian nurse, and a little cat who is pregnant for the third time this year.  My accommodations are very nice.  it is a three bedroom flat with a very large living room, a back porch with a view of the surrounding mountains, a kitchen with a refrigerator, gas stove, running water that you can actually drink from the tap, and even a large collection of spices. My room is small but has everything you would need a full sized bed with a wool blanket for the cold nights, a chair, a nightstand, and a wardrobe.  A local woman stops by twice a week to do our laundry and clean house.

So I am definitely not having the typical Peace Corps experience which involves stumbling to the pit toilet in the dark, reading by lantern light, getting water from a well, then boiling it for five minutes before putting it through a filter that makes the water taste like clay.   But as they say, I "have been there and done that" and have no compunctions about the comforts I now enjoy.

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1. My house on a typical cloudy afternoon

2.  View from the back porch.  Is this Switzerland or Cameroon?

3.  My housemate, Barbara, a medical student from Switzerland, studying on our front porch

4.  Tiffy, the cat, very small and very pregnant

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5.  The living room, never a mess like at home.  Great not to have a mailbox filled with bills, catalogs, and junk mail.

6.  The kitchen.  Boring looking, but I have stove, fridge, and running water I can drink from the sink without filtering.  Luxuries I really appreciate.